Monster's Ball
by snowtonight
Summary: Monster's Ball is terribly depressing but I love Sonny. If you like terribly depressing stories you might like this.


Title: 89' Comanche - Chapter 1

Rating: R (sort of but not really)  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on characters beloning to Milo Addica and Will Rokos. I make no money from this.

Notes: I love Monster's Ball which is strange since I hated it the first time I saw it. This is how I see Sonny.   
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts.

He never did like that truck much, least not while I was around. Guess he liked it when he first got it, year before I was born. Got it new, police auction, real cheap. Told me about it on one of the long drives to the hospital. Him drivin', mama leanin' her head on the cool glass of the passenger window. Me sittin' in the middle, careful not to touch her. Didn't want to hurt her any, she was already in so much pain. Man who owned that truck first, put away for life, just a couple of months after gettin' it.

So many trips to the hospital. Doctors writing out a whole lot of prescriptions, didn't have many answers though. Her lungs were bad and gettin' worse, not much they could do unfortunately. 'Just try to manage the pain', they said. From the look in her eyes they couldn't do much of that either. She never complained, just nodded and smiled that faint smile. That ghost of a smile. Seen pictures of her before that smile, when she was young. Wonder when she got so old. I didn't know her before.

He drives gramp's old Chevy now. Let me have the Comanche when I got my license, even before that really. Didn't want much to do with it after she died. Think it reminded him of her. The seats stained with discomfort. The house is different. She's there too but it's not the same. Pink flowers on the wall paper, porcelain vases with blue windmills painted on them scattered on tables covered in white lacey tablecloths. Lady who comes to clean every week picks them up gently, makes sure to put them back in the same exact spot. Three men living in a dead woman's house.

My room's in the attic. Pop fixed it up after gramps came to live with us when I was eight. He was having trouble being on his own after grams died. We'd lost mama three years before. Gramps took my bedroom downstairs since the walk up was hard on his back, even then. I always liked that attic, felt safe, sort of like a tree house, used to play up there when I was real little. Didn't feel like it was even connected to the house sometimes. Got kind of lonely up there though, the voices coming from downstairs felt far away.

Driving home from work I look forward to getting a beer from the fridge downstairs and heading up there. My room's always cooler than the rest of the house because of the trees blocking the windows. Grew up here so I'm used to the Mississippi swelter but that doesn't keep my uniform from stickin' to my skin on the drive home. Unbutton the shirt when I get in the truck, air conditioner not strong enough to do much good. Uses up more gas too, so I just leave it off. Maybe stop by and see the neighbor kids. Drive right past, just wanna get that beer and lay down right now.

Gramps is slumped down on the couch watchin' one his game shows, bells ringing, wheels spinning. That oxygen tank leaning against him like a pet dog. He always grunts 'hello', but not much else. He and pop have a lot more to say to one another, never had much use for me it seemed. He thinks I'm weak, always has. Took me huntin' soon after he moved in. I didn't want to go but even back then I knew where I came from, what I was supposed to be. Practiced hitting cans for a week before we went. I wanted him to be proud, see that I was good at something he thought was important. Well we went out into that field and I got myself a rabbit, quick too. But when I walked over to pick it up I took one look at that twitching creature and I puked up into the grass. He smacked me upside the head and told me to pull myself together, claim my kill. Made me carry it back and watch him skin it. Had it for dinner that evening, the meat tasting metallic and tough. Never hit anything again after that, just a bad shot I guess.

My bed's rumpled up, I never make it. Don't see no point, just gonna mess it up again. Take off my uniform and hang it up. Gotta have it ready for work tomorrow, can't show up wrinkled. I got enough to prove as it is. Grateful to finally flop down on my bed, I close my eyes. The sheets smell nice. Delores, the lady who cleans, changed them yesterday.

Got a new guy come in today. Sentenced fifty years for manslaughter, say he killed his girlfriend while they were having a fight. Young guy, not much older than me, head hung low, eyes on the floor. It's rec time right now. He's either watching TV in the big room or he's in his cell, bars open. It's his first night, my stomach clenches for him. Wonder what they were fightin' about. Wonder if he meant to kill her. Doesn't matter now I guess. I thank God for my freedom like I always do when I've been thinking of them and pull out magazine. It's a new one, college girls spreadin' themselves out. I start to pull but I can't concentrate. Keep thinkin' on that guy locked up in his cell, never gonna fuck another girl, never gonna go for another swim. I stop after awhile and pull on my jeans. Gonna go on over to the motel, give Vera a call.

Vera's good company. Real pretty, knows what to do. She always asks how I'm doing, gives me what I need. It's too fast though, wonder how much it would be for the whole night. More than I can afford and I don't think she'd do it anyway. Cash up front, that's the way she works. It's okay by me, wanna get that out of the way, not think about it too much. I don't mind giving her the money, want to help her out if I can. Tried to undress her once but she didn't want too much to do with that. She was nice about it though, just moves things along. Used to imagine her being my girlfriend, taking her out on dates, telling her about work, the boys down the road, where I'd rather be. Sometimes, after I fuck her, there's a moment or two when I pretend that's how it is between us, but then I zip up and let her go.

I parked the Comanche under the elm so it's not too bad when I get in. The air is still thick but the seats are comfortable. On the way to the motel I stop by the liquor store, pick up some Wild Turkey, use the pay phone outside to set up a meetin'. Charlene rings me up, never looks at me once. Never could get it right with girls around here. In high school I was always quiet, kept to myself. Liked going down to the swamps on my own better than running with the crowd that would have me. Some of the girls liked me. Georgia Anne says I got my looks from Hank so I guess that's why. I tried to be with them but I just couldn't get it right. Said the wrong things, made them uncomfortable, messed things up one way or another. Finally quit trying, easier to just call up Vera, think I could talk to her if she ever wanted to.

Get to the motel and settle in, Vera can only make it at eleven. It's all right, got nothing else to do anyway. I break open that bottle, glad I got the bigger one, need it tonight. A couple hours later and I'm slumped in that chair, rubbin' lightly. Want to be ready when she gets here, she don't like to wait. She shows up on time and takes care of me real good. I'm pretty drunk so I ask her if she wants to get something to eat, talk a bit. She leaves without answering and I fall asleep in that chair, don't wanna drive home right now. When I wake up it's still dark out, my watch says 2:45. My chest feels so tight, wish I wasn't alone, wish I'd asked her to stay. Can't remember if I did or not. The truck's parked right outside the door so I go on out and get the revolver out of the glove compartment. The air is still so sticky, wish it would rain. When I get back to the room I close the door and sit in the chair, revolver in my hand. Hank gave it to me when I was fourteen. I raise it up and put the muzzle in my mouth, my hand starting to shake like always. Gonna break some teeth one day doing this. I stay like that for five minutes, counting backwards, shaking the whole time. When I get to one I pull it out and lay it back down on my lap. Not tonight. I'll do it when the shaking stops. If I'm shaking it means I'm scared and if I'm scared maybe it means I still got something to lose. I don't know what, but it might be something important. I'll do it when the shaking stops, when the only decision left is how fast to pull the trigger.


End file.
